
Class _ ; 

Book 4^a£Es 

Copyright N° .t^ ff 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



POEMS 



BY 

' Vr* Jr 

ANNIE M; L. CLARK 

Author of The Alcotts in Harvard; Olive Lorings 
Mission, Etc., Etc. 

"Verse sweetens toil, however rude the sound." 

—Richard Clifford. 




BOSTON 

RICHARD G. BADGER 

The Gorham Press 

1905 



Copyright 1904 by ANNIE M. L. CLARK 
All Rights Reserved 



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Printed at 

THE GORHAM PRESS 

Boston, U. S. A. 



CONTENTS 

Page. 

By Faith not Sight 5 

Ben Isaac's Vision 6 

Estranged 8 

Reunited 1 1 

Days 13 

Thoughts 15 

Good-Night 16 

A Fragment 17 

Easter Carol 17 

The Child and the Brooklet . 18 

A Triolet 19 

"Come Awa' Hame, Donald, Lea'us na Mair" 20 

Woman's Rights 22 

Types 24 

Life's Questions 25 

A Picture 26 

Soul Union 27 

Grandma's Home 28 

Grandmother's Lover 30 

My Own Lover 30 

Going Fishing 31 

Our "Ain Countrie" 32 

An Old Maid 33 

The Patchwork Quilt 34 

Walsingham, Bermuda 36 

After the Rain 37 



Page. 

Beautiful Helps 38 

Faithfulness 39 

Saint Gregory's Guest 41 

Saint Eustachius 43 

Wonderings 45 

Making My Will 46 

Jesus Knows 48 

Answers 50 

The Mission of a Song 52 

God's Meal 54 

Pictures of the Past 57 

Pictures from the Sea 59 

My Past 61 

A Flower Lesson 63 

Throwing the Shoe 65 

Not Dead 67 

Upheld 68 

Song 70 

To One who was Tried 71 

Jewels 73 

Pictures of Comfort 75 

An Answer 77 

In Memoriam. L. H 79 

The Answered Prayer 80 

Two Lives in One 81 

The Upward Path 83 



BY FAITH, NOT SIGHT 

Father, the way is dark, 

I cannot see, — 
A starless night hangs low, 

And mournfully 
The winds, storm-laden, blow. 

Mine eyes are blind with tears,- 
Reach thou thy hand ; 

For else I shall not know 
Nor understand 

The way that I should go. 

All silently I stand, — 

Thou knowest all, 
The loneliness and pain; 

The tears that fall, — 
The hopes and longings vain. 

And so I wait, because 

I know thee nigh, 
And that the love which heeds 

The sparrow's cry 
Will care for all my needs. 

So, though the way be dark, 

I will not fear, 
Sometime the light will be 

All bright and clear, 
And I shall plainly see. 

Then shall I understand 

Thy plans for me, — 
Why pain and loss were best, — 

Then shall I see 
In light and peace and rest. 



BEN ISAACS VISION 

Ben Isaac walked in solitude one day 

While o'er his heart a heavy burden lay ; 
Vain were his sacrifices, and the prayers he said 

Seemed leaden-winged, and fell beside him dead. 
Fasting he oft had spent a lonely day, 

While wrapped around him folds of sackcloth lay ; 
'Twas useless all ; in vain he looked for rest ; 

Anguish uncheered was still his constant guest. 

The weight seemed heavier than his heart could bear, 

And once again he sought relief in prayer ; 
And vowed unblessed by rest, or any cheering good, 

To pass the days in loneliest solitude. 
Thrice had the glorious sun in golden rays 

Smiled out o'er earth, and called to loving praise ; 
It seemed but mockery to Ben Isaac's grief, 

As day and night he vainly sought relief. 

At last the angel Sleep his weary frame 

Touched with her wand ; and suddenly there came 
A vision to Ben Isaac's wondering eyes, 

That filled him with exceeding great surprise. 
In awe unquestioning he marked the light, 

Making the solitude with glory bright; 
And in the midst an angel calmly stood, 

His very presence speaking peace and good. 

Ben Isaac gazed until with voice that fell 
As sweetly clear as Sabbath morning bell, 

The angel spoke, and then he bowed his head. 
"Your prayers are heard, your fastings seen," he 
said, 

"And He who sitteth on the throne of Heaven, 
And by whose love your blessings all are given, 



Hath wisely ordered in his gracious care, 

That you work out an answer to your prayer. 

Prayers are but useless things, if in one's life 

Is lived no prayer; but spent in useless strife 
Are the rich talents God has kindly given, 

That this fair earth may prove a type of Heaven ; 
The dear Lord came to cleanse a world from sin ; 

Faith in his loving grace will pardon win ; 
While the pure teachings of his Holy Word 

Show care for others, service to the Lord. 

Faith, to prove true, must lead to loving deeds, 

That soothe and cheer humanity's great needs ; 
That worship finds in act, and word, and thought, 

Whose very texture is with love inwrought. 
Ben Isaac, if your soul would find release 

From grief, and view life's angles round to happy 
peace, 
Go see your Saviour in each suffering soul, 

And mend your broken joys by making others 
whole." 

Ben Isaac woke — in lingering music crept 

The words his heart had garnered while he slept ; 
He almost thought, in the rich morning light, 

He saw the angel's gleaming robes of white. 
Back to the busy haunts of life his way he took, 

A chastened earnestness in mien and look ; 
Henceforth his life bore loving fruit for Heaven, 

And alms as well as prayers were freely given. 



ESTRANGED 

We stood in the early morning, 

We two, by the moss-grown spring, 

And we said, "In the journey before us, 
Each to each we will fondly cling, 

And love over all the pathway 
Shall a radiant glory fling ;" 

"That trust in the truth of the other 
Shall ever be perfect and sure, 

For hearts that can love as we love, 
Will also be strong to endure; 

And the faith that we pledge shall ever 
Be firm, unshaken and pure." 

And down in the fountain before us 
Looked upward faces twain; 

While our hearts held deeper fountains 
Mirroring each one face again, 

One face to each held the dearest, 
And all other beauty was vain. 

We gathered a cluster of blossoms 
From amongst the moss at our feet, 

And folded them close in our bosoms, 
As tokens dear and sweet, 

That "Forget-me-not" was the motto 
Each loving heart should repeat. 

And then in the radiant sunshine, 

Hand fondly clasping hand, 
We turned from the moss-edged fountain, 

To seek for a path o'er the strand, 
That having been safely traversed, 

Would end in Love's beautiful land. 



8 



And we saw not at first, that between us 

A tiny streamlet sped, 
Bearing out to the land before us 

A gift from the fountain head, — 
For rushes and fragrant blossoms 

Quite shadowed its lowly bed. 

And the days grew many and many, 

For the way was very long, 
But the flowers still decked our bosoms, 

And love seemed pure and strong, 
And the ripple and purl of the waters 

Was only to us as a song. 

Yet still as at first, our clasping 

Of hands led us side by side, 
But the stream unperceived grew wider, 

And sped with a swifter tide, 
While even then in our blindness 

We watched the clear waves glide, 

And said, that one or the other 
Would cross the brook ere long, 

Before the shores receded, 

Or the waves grew fierce and strong ; 

This streamlet was naught to hearts like ours, 
Who deemed all doubt as wrong. 

At last, a-weary with reaching 

For a hand-clasp over the tide, 
We walked for the first time lonely, 

And laughed, as in merry pride 
We questioned which should be yielding, 

And cross to the opposite side. 

But swifter the rivulet glided, 

And the shores grew rough and steep; 
The waves had a song no longer, 



But in grief seemed to sob and weep : 
While the low, sweet words of our converse 
We had now in shouts to repeat. 

And never a narrowing tide ebb, 
And never a bridge that spanned, 

Brought us back the old time blessing 
Of clasping hand in hand; 

Till the stream grew deep and mighty, 
A broad river through the land. 

Then there came a time, when no longer 
Our loudest tones could be heard; 

And to soothe this wearisome journey, 
Came never a spoken word: 

Only a dirgelike murmur, 
Like the wail of a dying bird. 

Still deeper and darker the waters, — 

Still swifter the current sped, 
And looking afar o'er the distance, 

I saw, with surprise and dread, 
That they merged in a boundless ocean, 

And I knew all hope was dead. 

The "forget-me-nots" in my bosom 
Were bright in their fadeless hue, 

But gone for aye was the hand-clasp, 
And the face I no more should view, 

That beside my own in the moss-grown spring, 
Had smiled from the waters blue. 

Since then, through days grown dreary, 
I have walked on the shore alone, 

Looking all in vain for a footprint, 
Or listening for one dear tone: 

While over my heart this parting 

Has the weight of a graveyard stone. 

10 



REUNITED 

Once in the years that are past and gone, 

When my life was but just begun, 
I walked alone by a surging flood, 

In the light of the setting sun. 

I had stood by the brink of a moss-grown spring 
With my friend in the early morn, 

When the earth was gay with the dancing light 
Of a day that was newly born. 

Our hands were clasped o'er the narrow stream 
That rippled away from the spring; 

And our feet kept time to its merry song, — 
Life seemed such a gladsome thing. 

So hand in hand we traversed our way, 

With never a shadow of fear; 
The birds were gay, and the flowers were sweet, 

And each unto each was so near. 

But the hours crept on, and the stream grew wide, 
While unloosed were the friendly hands, 

And a silence settled where we two walked 
Apart o'er the wave-washed sands. 

Since then the years, with their clouds and shine, 
Their joys and their pains, have fled ; 

And many the gladsome songs we've sung, 
And many the tears we've shed. 

But the river of silence has rolled between, 

And never a bridge we found 
O'er which we could cross for a friendly word, 

As the years circled round and round. 



II 



Till one yesterday over the meadows fair, 

And over the river's tide, 
Where Memory lifted her stepping stones, 

My friend came again to my side. 

And kind once more were our spoken words, 
And glad was our grasp of hands ; 

The river speeds on, but we once more stand 
On friendship's golden sands. 

And up from my heart wells a song of praise, 

I whisper it o'er and o'er, 
"The silence is broken, the stream is spanned, 

My friend is my friend once more." 



12 



DAYS 

One day, set into June's most fragrant garland, 
Aglint with sunshine and o'erspread with blue, — 

A day when clasp of hands and kindly greeting 
Gave to my life a friendship warm and true. 

Another day, when all the sky seemed leaden, 

And storms were sobbing through the wild March 
air, 
When anguish tried my heart, and, weak and 
tempted, 
From quivering lips uprose a wordless prayer. 

Next morn a friendly breeze had wrought strange 
beauty, 
The clouds were silver-lined and fringed with 
gold; 
And my poor prayer had won a gracious answer, 
Of worth surpassing all past hopes foretold. 

Once, when the pallid sunshine of December 
Shone over ice and ridgy stretch of snow, 

A blessing came to me, and life's deep fountains 
Found spring-time fulness in their joyous flow. 

That dreary winter day was rich with beauty, 
In that my life had found a safe release 

From cankering doubts, and gained a trust, which 
rounded 
What had been tumult, into perfect peace. 



13 



Another day my memory holds as sacred, — 
Marking its year and date IVe set a cross, 

That tells a double tale of faith's completeness, 
And sorrow's tears when first I knew my loss. 

Linked one by one, a chain of days engirdleth 

The round of duties making up our life, — 
Now fair with peace, and gemmed with pearls of 
gladness, 
Now, woeful dark with grief and doubt's dull 
strife. 

And He who views the end from the beginning, 
Watches our way with love's own pitying care ; 

And knows that evening will be sweet with praises, 
Whose morn was hallowed with the voice of 
prayer. 



H 



THOUGHTS 

Swift through the distance, winged with pleasant 
fancies, 

My thoughts I send to the dear friends I love, 
Bearing affection's golden chain, whose clasping 

Links soul to soul, life here to life above. 

Our Father's life is ours, in richest measure : 
And He is love itself, and "love is life;" 

So should our life be ever love's exponent, 
Uplifting, helping, free from wrong or strife. 

Thought knows no space nor time, true as the mag- 
net 
When one with love, it seeks and draws its own, 
And soul meets soul in tender, sweet communion 
Such as earth's fleeting friendships ne'er have 
known. 

So over hill and dale my thoughts will reach you, 
No bonds to hinder them upon their way, 

And Memory's roll shall bear this pleasant record, — 
With friends beloved my soul has been to-day. 



15 



GOOD-NIGHT 

After the German of Theodor Koner, 

Good-night ! 
To weary ones may night a blessing bring, 
As day's last hours in tranquil silence wing ; — 
Bring them sweet rest from all exacting care, — 
Calm, peaceful rest, till morn awaketh fair. 

Good-night ! 

Go to thy rest ! 
Shut tired eyes grown weary of the light, — 
On the hushed street stillness proclaims the night; 
Only the watchman and the soft winds call, 
And brooding night a mantle spreads o'er all. 

Go to thy rest ! 

Slumber sweet! 
In dreams may paradise its portals ope, — 
May love's denials change to gladsome hope, — 
May you in dreams sweet satisfaction find, 
And your heart's darling greet you fondly, kind. 

Slumber sweet! 

Good-night ! 
Slumber in peace until the day awakes, — 
Slumber till bright the radiant morning breaks, — 
Coming with cares and hopes and duties new : — 
Sleep without fear, the Father watches you. 

Good-night ! 



16 



A FRAGMENT 

After the German of Marie Ebner. 

Question: — "A little song — what tender spell 
Wins human hearts to love it well, 
What lives within, I pray you tell?" 

Answer: — "There lies therein a cadence sweet, — 
Fond words that bid the pulses beat,- 
A soul where loving fancies meet." 



EASTER CAROL 

The Lord is risen, — this the song 

The happy angels sing; — 
The Lord is risen, — through the world 

Let the glad tidings ring. 

The Lord is risen, — all the earth 
Feels the awakening breath; — 

The Lord is risen, — ever more 
Life triumphs over death. 

The Lord is risen, — birds and flowers 
The blessed news proclaim ; — 

The Lord is risen, — honor, praise 
And glorify His name. 



17 



THE CHILD AND THE BROOKLET 

After the German of Dieffenbach. 

"Why hastenest thou away, 
Thou little brook so gay, 

Far through the valley green? 
I pray thee pause and be 
A playmate kind to me, 

I'm good, you must have seen." 

The brooklet murmured low, 
"I may not linger so, 

No time have I for play; 
I have so much to do 
I cannot rest with you ; 

My way is far to-day. 

"For I must quickly glide 
The old mill close beside 

To turn the busy wheel ; 
Then through the meadows low, 
To cheer the flowers that grow, 

Must gently onward steal. 

"The waiting lambs for me 
Are crying plaintively 

That I their thirst will slake ; 
So from the distant spring 
The water cool to bring 

My way I quickly take. 



18 



"Then yonder must I speed, 
The bleacher in his need 

Is asking help of me; 
My shining drops must aid 
Till his cloth white is made ; 

Much work have I, you see. 
"Good-bye, my child, good-bye ; 
No more I pause, but I 

Must hasten on my way. 
My journey long will be, 
Till I the ocean see; 

With you I must not stay." 



A TRIOLET 

'Tis a cold, windy night, 
But the stars are all out ; 
They are many and bright, — 
'Tis a cold, windy night. 
Each clear, sparkling light 
Bids my heart banish doubt; 
'Tis a cold, windy night, 
But the stars are all out. 



19 



"COME AWA' HAME, DONALD, LEA' US 
NA MAIR" 

Come awa' hame, Donald ; 'tis weary I'm grown, 
The hours hae been mony sin' ye left me here alone ; 
Nine times the heather's purple has flecked the hills 

wf bloom, 
Nine times the cauld o' winter has chilled me wV its 

gloom. 

Ye hae been lang awa', but I ken ye'll nae forget 
How your mither waits your comm' before her sun 

sha' set; 
Ye could nae thus hae' staid had ye ken'd how sad 

and sair 
Grows a mither's heart while fearin' her bairn wad 

come na mair. 

YeVe nae forgot the Hielands, in that land ayont 

the sea, 
Nor the wee bit cote adoun the vale, beneath the 

braid auld tree; 
Nor the ingle where thy sire, a-wearied frae the 

field, 
Finds rest and such glad peacefu'ness as hame alone 

can yield. 

The daisies lift their faces frae out yon garden bed, 
And the birdies in their nests are warblin' owrehead ; 
And the cry my heart is sendin' has aye this burden 

sair, — 
Come awa' to your hame, Donald, and lea' us na 

mair. 

Your father's nae sae bonny, an' my locks are grow- 
in' grey, 

20 



We're far alang the pathway that wi' end in heav- 
en some day; 

a' our bairns, except yoursel', we hae said, "The 

Lord does weal;" 
For each has gang before us to the "Land o' the 
Leal." 

On the stane by the doorway, when twilight shadows 

fa ' 

1 sit an' wait your comin' doun the path beside the 

wa' ; 
An' the sang I used to sing I aftentimes repeat, 
As when, a bairnie on my breast, I was rockin' ye to 

sleep. 

There's a voice borne on the breeze as it floats adoun 

the glen, 
A voice sae like your ain I think yeVe come again, 
An' the wish ye aft must feel seems whisperin' thro' 

the air, 
"Oh, the Hielands! the Hielands! Oh, gin I was 

there." 

Oh, Donald ! dear bairn Donald ! up yonder meadow 

slope 
Somewayfarer is nearin'. Oh, wad that I might hope 
It was thysel' returning now even amaist here, 
'Twad be the bonniest sicht I've met in mony a year. 

My heart grows still wi' watchin', for the way 

across the moor 
Brings the laddie ever nearer, an' he seems to seek 

our door. 
Oh, Donald! Donald! 'tis thysel', thy ain dear sel' 

at last, 
Ance more amang the Hielands, thy days o' absence 

past. f 

21 



WOMAN'S RIGHTS 

Her "rights" are heaven-appointed, clothed with pa- 
tience, 
Linked to her mission by a golden chain, 
Inlaid with diamond duties, through whose gleam- 
ing 
What else was dark lies purely fair and plain. 

Her "right" it is, where mountain paths are steepest, 
Patient to walk beside her brother man ; 

To trace her name with his in deathless letters, — 
Share his best honors, aid his noblest plan. 

These she may share, but, dearer still, she claimeth 
Exclusive "rights" that unto her belong, 

Giving to life its crowning wave of beauty, 
Giving more sweetness to her sweetest song. 

Hers to hold fondly on her loving bosom 
The little ones, whom Jesus said are blest ; 

To clasp fair folded hands, and guide the whispers 
Of children's prayers when twilight heralds rest. 

Hers to smooth tangled ways by sweet foreknowl- 
edge, 

That cometh only from her wealth of love ; 
To guide the tempted into paths whose ending 

Opens the golden gates of peace above. 

Hers to make home a shadowing forth of heaven ; 

To sit, home's angel, in the hearth-flame's glow; 
To make man better by her loving presence, 

And faith's calm beauties in her own life show. 



22 



In sun-bright paths, and in by-ways where shadows 
Drift into darkness, spectres of the air, 

Are upturned eyes, to whom the light seems anguish, 
And groping hands outstretched for helping care. 

And Woman's "right" it is to smile back comfort, 
In her soft grasp to hold those groping hands, 

And where, to weary hearts, life seems a burden, 
Speak cheering words, like springs 'mid desert 
sands. 

O sister woman ! when our lives are rounded 
To truest beauty earth could ever claim, — 

Each "right" made perfect through accepted duties, 
Whose full completion was our faithful aim ; — 

When these lie all in finished grace around us, 
And hands are idle, seeking work in vain, 

Then, not till then, need we to claim new "mis- 
sions," 
"Rights" that would prove a burden, and no gain. 



23 



TYPES 

Only a little cross 

Of forest nurtured moss, 

Gray, brown and green — 
With here a gleam of gold, 
While there in dainty fold, 

Like fairy blossoms, scarlet tips are seen. 

Only a simple wreath, 
Clasping the cross beneath, — 

Immortelles fair; 
Holding in fadeless hue 
The summer's sun and dew, 

Bright living thanks for heaven's loving care. 

Only a little life, 
Wherein a constant strife 

Is waged with sin, 
With evils which allure, — 
With thoughts and aims impure, — 

That the whole soul grow undefiled within. 

Often in humble ways, 
Kind deeds unknow r n to praise 

Brighten a cross, 
That casts its tear-marked shade 
Where some life-hope is laid, — 

Some burden newly raised, some gold proved dross. 

Kind deeds, like flowers fair, 
Should help with loving care 

To soothe each loss ; 
Then would life's common way 
Find round its brown and gray 

Love's fair immortelles wreathing every cross. 



LIFE'S QUESTIONS 

Life has its questions ; all the way we ask, 
Wherefore and why, with slow and bated breath, 

The answers often mock us, till our eyes 

See clearly, touched by the kind hand of Death. 

We long for quiet, seek for calm and peace, — 
Tumults and waves of restlessness toss high, 

Vague fears and spectre shadows throng the path; 
Only through faith know we a helper nigh. 

So true it is, we do not walk by sight, 

O'er unseen ways, 'mid clouds and mists we tread ; 
Glad amid fears, if in our inmost souls 

We hear the blessed words the Master said : 

"My peace I give you; do not be afraid, — 

Be of good cheer, — thy times are in my hand." 

And then content we lay our questions down, 
To wait their answers in the Better Land. 



W) 



A PICTURE 

A fair, low brow where touch of angels' fingers 
Seemed to have smoothed all trace of care away ; 

And eyes where tender smiles were ever lurking, 
Telling sweet tales of love's indwelling sway. 

Hair whose brown waves held flecks of golden 

brightness 

As though the sunbeams loved to nestle there; 

And lips whose curves were wrought by gentle 

speaking 

Of loving thoughts and holy words of prayer. 

Hands whose deft touch sought ever kindly uses, 
Smoothing rough ways for tender feet to tread, — 

Raising the grief-bowed, pointing ever upward 
To where Heaven's brightness down life's path is 
shed. 

Such was my friend, and I, who knew her sweetness, 
The glad pure kindness of her daily life, 

The saintly beauty that made sacred to her 
The precious names of mother and of wife. 

Best know how much of pain the words brought to 
me, 
When first I read, "Your friend has passed 
away," — 
And knew God's tender angels safe had led her 
To that bright home where love alone holds sway. 

Years have gone by, and still I miss her presence, 
Her loving sympathy in joy and pain; 

And day by day the tender hope grows sweeter, — 
Sometime my friend and I shall meet again. 

26 



SOUL UNION 

To-night when the shadows have deepened 
And the glow of the sunset is gone, 

When the stars in the far sky are keeping 
Their watch till the morning shall dawn, 

Swift o'er the long way my beloved one 
Will speed through the stillness to me, 

Straight on, for love bridges all distance, 
And the wings of the spirit are free. 

Unheeding though others surround me, 
I shall know he is close by my side, 

My hand in his fond grasp will nestle, 
My unseen, my God-given guide. 

I only shall hear the calm sweetness 
Of words that are noble and pure ; 

Words spoken from spirit to spirit, 
Real words that will ever endure. 

No fetters can bind the free spirit, 
Glad and swift, like a bird to its nest, 

His soul seeks my soul, and the seeking 
Brings union and comfort and rest. 



27 



GRANDMA'S HOME 

I went last night to my grandma's, 

To the old house under the hill, 
Where the past has hung fair pictures 

And sweet memories come at will. 
The sunset's crimson curtains 

Were looped with bands of gold, 
Just touching the far blue mountain 

With many a radiant fold. 

I sat in the dear old kitchen, 

And saw through memory's glass 
Much that the chances and changes 

Of the long-ago brought to pass. 
Once more I saw the broad settle, 

And the hearth-fire's cheerful blaze, 
And the clock that ticked in the corner 

The fleeting of so many days. 

And out from his bed by the fireside 

Peeped "Porter's" kindly face, 
And "Peter," through half shut eyelids, 

Watched the squirrels running a race. 
I could hear the creak of the well-sweep, 

And the bucket's splash in the well, 
The dove's low coo in the barn-loft, 

And the geese in the meadow dell. 

With grandpa's pipe on the mantel 

Stood the row of candlesticks tall; 
And grandpa's chest by the west-room door, 

And grandma's wheel 'gainst the wall. 
Out through the open window, 

I gazed on the rock-crowned hill ; 
That is just the same, but its charm is gone 

Since Charlie's dear feet have been still. 

28 



Once again I seemed to listen 

As in pleasant by-gone days, 
When grandpa called us round him, 

To join in prayer and praise. 
Ah, me! the band has been broken 

Dear grandpa lives in heaven ; 
And grandma's head has a snowy crown, 

The glory by old age given. 

Time's touch has brought many changes, 

But I love to keep in my heart, 
These sweet but homely pictures 

Of my childhood's life a part. 
There are many prouder homesteads, 

But love gives a worth untold ; 
And the old home's heart-kept beauties 

Could not be purchased with gold. 



29 



GRANDMOTHER'S LOVER 

He brought me a nosegay so funny, 

Funny as funny can be, — 
Clover and catnip and yarrow, 

And a bit of a mulberry-tree ; 
And he said I looked like my grandma 

When she was a slip of a girl ; 
And would I give him a keepsake, 

A wee little, dear little curl ? 
And he bowed with a stately obeisance to me, 
My grandma's old lover from over the sea. 



MY OWN LOVER 

He also brought me a nosegay, 

My own lover, tender and true, 
Roses and roses and roses, 

Tied up with a ribbon of blue ; 
And he said in the tenderest, happiest tone, 
" Roses for you, dearest rose of my own." 

And then I told him the story 

Of my grandma's lover so old, 
And showed him the old-fashioned posy 

Slipped into a circlet of gold. — 
A ring that for grandmother's sake I must wear, 
Diamonds in exchange for a curl of my hair. 

"Diamonds are cold," said my dear one, 
"But rubies are warm, bright and true — 

Roses and rubies, my darling, 

Are the best and the fittest for you ; 

Let him carry his diamonds back over the sea, 

And take my three gifts, roses, rubies, and — me." 

30 



GOING FISHING 

The people who live in cloud-land 
Must have had a washing day, 

And hung up their clothes all dripping, 

For the big drops spattered away ; 

'Twas much too rainy to go to school, 
And too wet to go out and play. 

" 'Tis just about right," said Billy, 
"To go fishing down in the brook; 

I shall have to dig some fishworms, 
And hunt up a line and hook, 

And Fll catch some great big bouncers, 
The biggest ever was took." 

"Such grammar as that," said grandpa, 
"Tells as plain as words can tell 

That the season has been a wet one, 
A downright rainy spell, 

When the days just right for fishing 
Count up remarkably well." 



31 



OUR "AIN COUNTRIE" 

Days follow days, the traversed path grows longer, 
Our backward glances scan the toilsome way ; 

The hours seem shorter, on the western mountains 
Earlier the sunset glories close the day; 

Almost from sunny uplands we can see 

The fadeless verdure of our "ain countrie." 

Swift glides the boat across the silent river, 
And angel-guided, one by one they go ; 

The friends whose feet have walked the path beside 
us, 
To pastures green, where the still waters flow ; 

There safely sheltered, to forever be 

In some fair mansion of our "ain countrie. ,, 

Some have left monuments of earnest effort, — 
Some have sung songs that other lives will cheer ; — 

Some bore the cross of weary pain while waiting, 
Till life's strange tangles show their meaning 
clear, 

Why folded hands, not work, their lot should be, 

Till came their summons to our "ain countrie. ,, 

There we shall understand why hopes were shat- 
tered, — 

Ambitions laid aside, — joys merged in pain; 
Why shadows dimmed the light of early morning, 

And life at midday sought for strength in vain. 
All will be clear, when from earth's fetters free, 
We hear the summons to our "ain countrie." 



32 



AN OLD MAID 

What, I an old maid ? Why, how funny ! 

When 'twas only the other day 
That I thought it the sweetest of pleasures 

To go in the green woods to play 
With my sisters, Mary and Lucy, 

My brothers, and gay Robbie Gray. 

Yes, I went to school with your mother, 
But that doesn't make me feel old ; — 

I can tell you a secret, my darling, 
Maybe you have never been told ; — 

IVe been all my life catching sunbeams, — 

You can't guess what a lot hearts will hold. 

And they keep me so glad and contented, 

That gray hairs don't fright me one mite, — 

To be called an "old maid" won't alarm me, 
Heart sunbeams make everything bright. 

What, a letter ? Oh, Robbie, my Robbie, 
What a blessing to see you to-night ! 

You didn't know Rob was my lover? 

Well, we kept our own counsel, you see; 
It was best I should silently trust him 

While he was afar o'er the sea. 
Will Gray says he's old and gray-headed? 

No matter, he's just right for me. 



33 



THE PATCHWORK QUILT 

'Tis only a calico bedquilt 

Draping a lowly bed ; 
But oh ! the mem'ries are treasures 

That hallow that patchwork spread. 
Its squares were wrought into beauty 

By fingers now at rest — 
There are many finer coverings, 

But I love this one the best. 

Here are scraps and remnants of dresses 

Once worn by the loved and gone; 
Whose raiment now is spotless, 

In the land of eternal morn. 
Every square is bright with a picture 

That my eyes can only see ; 
What you would call plain and faded 

Is wondrous fair to me. 

That scrap of blue in the corner, — 

Ah ! don't you remember the day 
I wore that dress, when first me met 

One morn in a bygone May? 
The dress I can wear no longer, 

But that day is never forgot, — 
'Twas strange our meeting and parting, 

Should so brighten and sadden my lot. 



34 



That buff was little Charlie's, 

And the pink and white and grey 
Were Alice's, ere her last farewell 

Rent part of my life away. 
And this brown with snowy blossoms 

Was Aunt Ruth's Sunday best, — 
Dear heart, she grew so weary 

She was glad to seek her rest. 

There is so much I might tell you 

Of beauty that you cannot see, 
For after all 'tis the love of the loved 

That gives it its worth to me. 
For love is a great enricher, 

And treasures we highest prize 
Would seem to be utterly worthless 

If viewed through others' eyes. 



35 



WALSINGHAM, BERMUDA 

The sun shines bright on Walsingham, 

As in the days of yore, 
When through the tangled woodland paths 

Echoed thy steps, Tom Moore. 
The swift gulls sail on snowy wings, 

The song-birds trill their lays, 
And flowers the air with perfume fill 

As in those bygone days. 

Thy memories haunt the forest shades, 

Thy voice rings on the breeze, 
We linger where thou oft hast stayed 

Thy steps beneath the trees. 
The hours hold thoughts too deep for words, 

The heart alone can tell 
How sweet the magic thrall we own 

Through Fancy's wondrous spell. 

The lonely rooms of Walsingham 

Tell silent tales of thee, 
Echoes that float adown the waves 

Of Time's unending sea. 
Thy songs come whispering to our hearts 

With sweet and rapturous spell, 
And something 'kin to tender grief 

Breathes as we say "Farewell!" 



36 



AFTER THE RAIN 

Far where the mountains rise, height on height, 
The clouds are glowing with tropical light, 
Glistening and shining with golden gleams, 
As bright and transient as childhood's dreams ; 
The East making love to the West again, 
With the sunbeams for messengers, after the rain. 

High 'midst them all, with its seven-hued arch, 
Fit pathway for sweet hopes like angels to march, 
Is lifted the bow, a sure token from Heaven 
That God's sunshine as well as his rain will be given. 
His love and his watchcare prove ever the same, 
His presence seems nearer, after the rain. 

We gaze and we think of the story we heard 
When life seemed all sunshine, and truth gemmed 

each word, 
How the far reaching ends of the beautiful bow 
Were upheld by treasures deep buried below; 
And oft we were tempted to search o'er the plain 
For gem-laden caskets, after the rain. 

Thus ever we find when grief saddens our way, 
That the storm-clouds of sorrow pass surely away 
When the sunbeams of Faith cast their luminous 

light, 
And Hope from above, like a bow-promise bright, 
Tells of treasures unfading, sought never in vain, 
And our hearts grow more tender, after the rain. 



37 



BEAUTIFUL HELPS 

Only a delicate flower, 

Lovely in form and hue, — 

Sweet in its tender help, 

To feelings loving and true. 

Only a beautiful thought, 
Framed into fitting rhyme, 

Helpful to lonely hearts, 

Traveling the shores of time. 

Only a jubilant song 

Sung as the glad heart sings, 
Uplifting the longing soul 

As though borne on unseen wings. 

Scattered along the way 
Beautiful helps abound: — 

The glow of the sunset sky, 
The ocean's song profound, 

The light of a soul-lit face, 
The grasp of a loving hand, 

The bliss of a tender word, 

And deeds that are noble and grand. 

All things beautiful, true, 
All things tender, are given 

As helps in the onward way 

That leads to the life of Heaven. 



38 



FAITHFULNESS 

He came when the sweet spring blossoms 

Embroidered the robes of May, 
And the glint of a softer sunshine 

Enraptured and gladdened my way ; 
He whispered the oft-told story, 

So old, and yet ever so new, 
And while he asked me to trust him, 

Said he would be faithful and true. 

I thought no roses so fragrant 

As the ones that bloomed that June, 
'Twas the golden year of my lifetime, 

But it faded all too soon, 
For ere the gorgeous beauty 

Of the autumn quite had past, 
We said our farewell — alas! dear heart, 

I little thought 'twas our last. 

Afar where Italia's sunsets 

Gild skies of the daintiest blue, 
He went with the proud ambition 

His glorious work to do; 
He said he would come to claim me, 

And I, oh! I still can but trust, 
I cannot believe him faithless, 

Although they tell me I must. 

I wear his ring on my finger, 

The pledge of his troth to me, — 
The ring his proud old father brought 

From over the rolling sea. 
They say the gems and the setting 

111 match my humble dress — 
What was it you were saying, — 

God has his own time to bless? 



39 



Was that what I said last evening? 

Ah! yes, and I'll you the rest, 
All, how my sorrow has left me 

And joy is my welcome guest. 
I was sitting, watching the shadows 

Creep down from the pines on the hill, 
As if loth to touch the maples 

All aglow by the brookside mill. 

And I thought, till through the stillness 

Somebody spoke my name; 
Ah, well, last night was a picture, 

And God's love its golden frame, 
He has come — but now I must leave you, 

For I hear his step in the hall, 
You see it was well that I trusted, 

For he has proved true after all. 



40 



SAINT GREGORY'S GUEST 

Do you know the beautiful story, 
So wonderfully tender and quaint, 

Of Pope Gregory, famed for his goodness, 
Now known everywhere as a saint? 

'Tis a story worth the repeating, 
For it tells of his service of love 

To the sick, the sad and the weary, — 
Born of love to our Father above. 

His heart seemed a fountain of sweetness, 
From whence like a rivulet flowed 

A stream of kind words, — deeds of mercy, 
On the sad and the storm-tossed bestowed. 

But of all these memories cherished, 
The sweetest and dearest and best, 

Is the one 'tis a joy to be telling, 

How he welcomed an unbidden guest. 

One day, he had gathered around him 
Twelve sad ones to comfort and cheer, 

Whose lives had been darkened by sorrow, 
And saddened with many a fear. 

But when his guests all had been seated 
At the table so bountifully spread, 

And the words of thanksgiving been spoken, 
That were said at the breaking of bread. 



41 



In wonder he saw that a stranger 

Had taken a seat with the rest, 
And Gregory said, "In the name of the Lord; ,, 

And thus welcomed his unbidden guest. 

But his wonder increased when he noted, 
By him only the stranger was seen ; 

And his heart glowed with tenderest pity 
As he marked the man's sorrowful mien. 

When the supper was over, the stranger, 
Stood, as waiting Saint Gregory's quest, 

Who asked him in wonder the question, 
'Who art thou who come as my guest?" 

And the beautiful words of the answer, 
Were like balm to the listener's heart, — 

"My name is the Wonderful, ask and receive, 
For a true faithful servant thou art." 

"Thus in feeding the poor and afflicted, — 
In speaking the comforting word, — 

In sharing with others thy blessings, 

Thou hast cared for and succored thy Lord." 

In amazement Saint Gregory listened, 

Reverently bowing his head, 
And when silence again fell around him, 

The wonderful vision had fled. 

But his heart kept the beautiful picture, 
That grew dearer as year followed year ; 

He made life one continuous blessing, 
And good souls hold his memory dear. 



42 



SAINT EUSTACHIUS 

In a book of wonderful legends, 
Very queer and quaint and old, 

Is the tale of Saint Eustachius, 
That mayhap has seldom been told. 

Splendor watched over his cradle, 
Grand and high rose his castle walls, 

Ever brave was he at the tourney, 
And gay in the banquet halls. 

Till his very soul grew aweary 
Of even the sweetness of life, 

And he sought in the cell of the convent, 
Release from its tumult and strife. 

But no wisdom had he of letters, 
No knowledge of book or pen, 

And the only prayer of his saying, 
Over and over again, 

Was the beautiful "Ave Maria, ,, 
Evening and morning and noon, 

Till his heart seemed a sweet toned organ, 
Ever playing one reverent tune. 

When he passed, the prayer of his lifetime 
Rose soft with his fleeting breath, 

And "Ave Maria" filled his chamber, 
As the sweet benediction of death. 



43 



And when in the peace of the churchyard 
They had laid the dead brother to rest, 

With the birds and the flowers and the sunshine, 
And the cross on his pulseless breast, 

There grew from his grave a tall lily 

Wonderfully pure and rare, 
With "Ave Maria" in letters of gold 

On each one of its petals fair. 

And the monks were filled with wonder, 
And they opened the grave to seek 

Why the glorious flower should honour 
A soul that had seemed so weak. 

There they read a love-writ answer 
With a hushed and glad surprise, — 

The lily grew from the dead man's lips, — - 
His words wrapped in heavenly guise. 

And so because of this lily — 

This robe of a heartfelt prayer — 
And of dear old Saint Eustachius, 
One day of each year is fair, 

With a memory sweet and fadeless, 

Of the saint so meekly true, 
And the flower that told the story, 

Of the only prayer he knew. 



44 



WONDERINGS 

I sit in my quiet chamber, 
And gaze o'er the sunlit plain, 

Now lying bright in the radiance 
Following yesterday's rain ; 

And wonder if coming to-morrows 
Will bring joy to my life again. 

I hear from the trees yet leafless 
The birds of the Springtime sing: 

I mark the flash and the flutter 
Of many a beautiful wing, 

And question my heart, while I listen, 
Why it is such a sorrowful thing? 

I see with a spirit taught vision, 
And not with my mortal eyes, 

Far beyond where the hills lie bluest, 
The spires of the city rise, — 

And wonder why life to my seekings, 
Gives me back such sad replies. 

I question if peace and gladness, 
Are the guests that with you abide ; 

I listen in vain for your footsteps 
That once echoed close by my side,- 

Ah, me, — the city is distant, — 

There are distances still more wide. 

I wonder, and question, and ponder, 

'Tis surely not all in vain, 
These tumults, and griefs and changes, 

May end like yesterday's rain, — 
I wish I was strong for enduring, 

And waiting till all be made plain. 



45 



MAKING MY WILL 

Did you ask me what I was doing ? 

Only this, I've been making my will, — 
Numbering over the treasures 

I shall leave when my heart-throb grows still. 
I know only those who have loved me, 

Will find worth in what will be given, 
For I haven't much wealth but affection, 

Save what may be laid up in heaven. 

Were you saying 'twas strange I should write then, 

When I claim neither houses, nor gold ? 
Don't you know that the heart's inner chambers 

Hold wealth whose worth is untold ? 
Only yesterday I was reading, 

The heart-will of one now at rest, 
And I thought 'twas a joy to thus number 

Sweet gifts to those we love best. 

Mother dear, to you and to father, 

I will leave a fair casket of gold ; 
The gold of obedience wrapping close 

Gratitude's bright gems in its hold. 
And my sister shall have a sweet garland, 

I'll make ready with love's fond care; 
On each flower I'll trace a blessing, 

And on every leaf a prayer. 

And to you, ah, dear, I'd forgotten, 

You are treading the golden street, 
I must e'en take my gift up with me, 

In hope that we there may meet. 
I will leave of these flowers unfading 

A portion for many a friend, 
They will symbol that undying friendship 

That suffers no change nor end. 

4 6 



Dear friend of my childhood, what token 

Or gift shall I leave for you ? 
Our paths lie apart, and an ocean of change 

Covers shores where Love's flowers once grew; 
I will leave in your care this necklace, 

Each link is a thought of the past, 
Sometime, if your heart should grow weary, 

You'll rejoice that my friendship could last. 

You have counseled to noble actions, 

Sweet one, and my gift to you 
Shall be the broadening circle 

Of whatever is earnest and true. 
And, brother of mine, 'mid the blessings 

That brighten your pilgrim's lot, 
I'll send you this charm, with the motto, — 

"Unforgetting, and still unforgot." 

And last on the list of my treasures, 

I will leave you the richest, dear friend : 
The every day prayers of a lifetime, 

Constant and fond to the end. 
They may yield no gleam nor glitter, 

But they bear love's golden ring, 
And God, who blesses the weakest, 

Only knows what comforts they'll bring. 



47 



JESUS KNOWS 

I cannot understand, when o'er Time's ocean 

My life-barque sailed, 
Why tempests came, and why in dim confusion 

My way seemed veiled; 
The reasons are not clear to my weak vision, — 

I look in vain 
For that fair port, and for those fields Elysian 

I thought to gain. 
But this is plain ; God saw it best, and therefore 

The storm arose; 
And though I cannot see the why or wherefore, 

Yet Jesus knows. 

I cannot tell, why, when the day seemed clearest, 

Dark clouds should lower; 
Or why the hopes that my fond heart held dearest, 

Failed in an hour: 
I know not why the morning's glorious shining 

Was veiled ere noon, 
Or why the fragrant garlands love was twining 

Should fade so soon. 
But this I know; though God His why and where- 
fore 

Doth not disclose, 
His purposes are ever best, and therefore 

He surely knows. 



48 



I know not now, but Jesus knows, why shadows 

Shut out the light ; 
Why treasures we deemed deathless, felt so soon 

The touch of blight ; 
Why hearts we leaned our own against, believing 

That truth held sway, 
Crushed our fond trusting love with drear deceiving, 

Darkening our way. 
I cannot tell ; but God the why and wherefore 

May yet disclose ; 
He doeth all things well, and therefore 

He surely knows. 

Much, much there is to our poor human vision, 

Shrouded in gloom ; 
Much that when questioned by our weak decision 

Seems saddest doom. 
Many the treasures that we mourn, departed 

From our fond hold, 
Leaving us desolate, and broken-hearted, 

With griefs untold. 
We cannot fathom yet the why and wherefore 

Of joys or woes, 
But our dear Lord does ever right, and therefore 

His wisdom knows. 



49 



ANSWERS 

I prayed for light, when over earth and sky 

Clouds drifted low, — 
The night came on apace, with wind and rain, 

And blinding snow. 
And on my heart there lay a nameless dread, 

How should I go? 

I could but wait, God surely would not cast 

My prayer aside, 
For He has promised in the darkest hour 

To light provide, — 
And when the storm beat fiercest, Truth appeared 

My steps to guide. 

I prayed for guidance, and my feet were led 

A dreary way, — 
Down rugged steeps, and over chasms wide, 

My journey lay, — 
A desolate and lonely path was mine 

From day to day. 

I prayed for patience, and a heavy weight 

Pressed on my breast; 
The sorrow that I dreaded most, crept in 

To mar my rest. 
Joy's garlands faded, and the hopes proved vain 

That I prized best. 



50 



I prayed, and God my Father, answered me, 

In His own way: 
He sent the darkness, that unquestioning 

I might obey, 
And after night's drear tempest, find through truth 

Love's perfect day. 

My prayer for guidance, too was not in vain, 

My heart He knew, 
And how the path I gladly would have trod, 

Though fair to view, 
Was not the narrow one that leads to life 

Perfect and true. 

And so He led me in His own good way, 

And when I cried, 
And asked for patience, then my griefs and pains 

Were multiplied, 
That my poor heart might sooner yield its will 

To His, my Guide, 
And through my tears and anguish, learn to trust 

Him to provide. 



51 



THE MISSION OF A SONG 

'Twas an old, old song she sang, 
As she rocked the babe on her breast, 
While the wayfarer at the door, 
Who had stopped for an hour of rest, 
Listened, his eyes adim with tears, 
While Memory, over the lapse of years, 
Brought thoughts to him in clustering throng, 
Of days when his mother sang that song. 

He thought of his boyhood's home, — 

Low-roofed, and brown and old, 

Where love, and trust, and humble content, 

Gave a peace beyond purchase by gold. 

He remembered the path down the shady lane, — 

The wide-doored barn with its home-made vane, — 

The trees where the ripest chestnuts fell, 

And the cool spring deep in the willow dell. 

His own little room with its sloping side, 
Its window draped with a trailing vine, 
Where the sun looked in with a morning smile, 
And the breeze came sweet from the grove of pine. 
Things seldom remembered came thronging back, 
Of the time when he trod youth's flower-strown 

track, 
When grief was unknown, and fears were few, — 
When sin seemed afar, and life all true. 



52 



He knew in the churchyard under the hill 
The most of his household band were laid, 
While patiently sad in her lonely home, 
His mother waited, and watched, and prayed. 
He had been a wild and wayward youth, — 
Had wandered alike from home and truth, — 
Had recklessly bartered with sin's dark wrong, 
Since last he had heard that simple song. 

And now there seemed in its homely strains, 
An inner tone that with pleading voice, 
Urged his feet to walk in the homeward way, — 
Bade him make that mother's heart rejoice. 
It seemed to tell of repentant peace, — 
Of a soul at rest through a growing release 
From the chain of sin that had bound so long 
His life with the saddening powers of wrong. 

The baby slept, and household cares 

Employed the mother's busy hands, 

Rounding to beauty homely ways, 

And weaving to fitness tangled strands, — 

Little she knew, 'mid her happy thought, 

Of the holy mission her song had wrought, — 

While the wanderer hastened his homeward way, 

With the earnest purpose no more to stray. 



53 



GOD'S MEAL 

An Old Dutch Custom. 

All the long day swift busy feet 

Had traversed homely household ways, 
Where lowliest duties, wrought through love, 

Gave added wings to prayer and praise. 
Fair in the fields the maytime bloom 

Fringed hedges green with tips of snow ; 
And bits of heaven's own blue smiled out 

From sedgy bank, and beckside low. 

Far in the West the clouds had wrapped 

Their curtains round the setting sun ; 
While home-bound steps, and restful smiles 

Proclaimed the week's long labours done, 
Saturday night, and pious souls 

Saw "God's meal" spread with loving care, 
Counted "God's wages," — giving thanks 

If gain or loss had been their share. 

Good Vrow Van Stralan, at whose touch 

Life's roughnesses seemed smoothed to calm, 
So learned was she in His sweet ways, 

Whose helping hand is soft with balm ; 
Had made the week a robe of grace, 

And fringed it round with loving deeds, — 
With 'broidered pictures, blue and gold, 

Of self forgot for other's needs. 



54 



And now with eyes in whose clear depths 

The peace of Heaven sweet radiance gave, 
She watched for one whose home-bound sails 

Floated adown the northen wave, — 
Auke Van Stralan, whom her heart 

Read worthy love so fond and dear, — 
A young, brave soul, swift to obey 

When Duty's summons sounded clear. 

And while the evening's purple haze 

Falls like a benediction round, 
"God's meal" is spread, and 'mid the hush 

Of waiting, comes the welcome sound 
Of the dear voice, the ringing step, 

And all the house is quick with joy, — 
With tears and smiles and tender words, — 

"Thank God, thank God, my boy, my boy." 



The blessing said, they gather round to share 

"God's meal," that ends the busy week, 
And count "God's wages," — joys and pains alike, 

With quiet gladness and with patience meek. 
Each tells his tale of trial or of joy, — 

Of tasks completed, smooth or rugged ways ; 
And each in ending adds the same refrain, 

"God pays sure wages, unto Him be praise." 



55 



On Auke's hand a golden circlet bears 

The household motto, simple, strong and pure, — 
Carved o'er the doorway, graven on each heart, 

"God's work alone brings wages sure." 
And as he tells the story of the days, 

Many and long since last "God's meal" he shared, 
Each heart, each voice, sings gladly, "Praise the 
Lord," 

"For work, for wages, for the household spared." 

And so "God's meal" is eaten, and the day 

Ends, wrapped about with night's encircling calm ; 
Each heart is filled with tender, brooding peace, 

Sweet as the incense of a Sabbath psalm. 
Thus week by week in pious homes they count 

God's Providences, "wages" of His love, 
And in "God's meal" see type and promise sure, 

Of glad reunion in the home above. 



56 



PICTURES OF THE PAST 

Dedicated to the Daughters of the Revolution. 

Rich are the radiant portals, — 

Wide swinging to left, to right, 
Where Memory's walls are laden 
With pictures framed in light. 

Undimmed by years are the colors, — 

Fadeless the blue and gold, — 
Deathless as are the stories 

By brush and pencil told. 

We see with the spirit's vision, — 

With quickened sense we hear, 
And we live the years long vanished, — 

With each bygone hope and fear. 

We feel the nation's pulse-beat, 

All the sudden, quick alarms, 
That answer the drum's fierce beating, 

And the fife's shrill call "To arms." 

And the plough is left in the furrow, 
While the swift "Good byes" are said, 

By lips that to-morrow's sunset 
May find cold among the dead. 

We live it o'er in our thinking, 

And our bosoms swell with pride, 

For the mothers who watched and waited, — 
And the fathers who dared and died. 



57 



And whether where rolled the Potomac, 

Or here by the Nashua's tide, — 
Everywhere the wives and the mothers, 

Sat their desolate hearth-stones beside. 

How nobly they trusted and waited, 

How bravely they hoped as they prayed ; 

With hands ever faithful to duty, 
And feet that no danger delayed. 

Ever earnestly guarding and holding 
The home-trusts left in their care, 

Who shall call them less brave than the soldiers 
Who went forth to do and to dare? 

Thus these pictures add story to story, 

And the half can never be told, 
Of the noble lives of the mothers 

Who lived in those days of old. 

And we, as we number their virtues, 
And the deeds that ennobled their days, 

Can honor them best, in the making 
Our own lives worthy of praise. 



58 



PICTURES FROM THE SEA 

Cunard Steamship Pavonia, July 25th, 1896. 

A sky that was black and starless, — 

A sea high-flecked with foam, — 
A shattered ship 'mid the tempest wild, 

Afar from the lights of home; 
Where the bravest ones were helpless, 

And strong, true hearts grew weak, 
While ever the night grew darker 

And the tossing waves more bleak. 

A morn that was gay with sunshine, 

Skies bright with the blue of June, 
While the waters calm in their beauty, 

Make a part of the day's glad tune ; — 
But alas, for the brave ship shattered 

With never a hand to save, 
And alas, for the dear ones resting 

Far down in a watery grave. 

Poor little homes by the seashore, — 

Women sad and pale with care, 
With faces grown old through hope deferred, 

And the grief of unanswered prayer, — 
Thus ever and often the story, — 

The sorrowful, heart-broken wives, 
And the poor little desolate children, 

With the father-love gone from their lives. 



59 



How the world's great heart grows tender 

When the pitiful tales are told, 
And the shielding wings of a brooding love 

The sad little orphans enfold. 
Oh, well for the hearts that are loving, 

And well for the helping hands, 
That working at one with the angels, 

Bind the earth with sympathy's bands. 

Thus the wail of the wind-tossed billows, 

Bears ever and ever the cry 
Of these orphans mourning the fathers, 

Who gallantly dare and die. 
Let us share in the work of cheering, 

Let us reach the helping hand, 
To these little ones of our Father, 

On their way to the heavenly land. 



6c 



MY PAST 

All yesterday I was carving 

A stone for the buried Past, 
That should serve as reminder, and token 

Of beauties that did not last. 
I scarcely paused at my labor, 

Unheeding the restless smart, 
That I thought was only memory, 

Whispering close to my heart. 

And only when earth and heaven 

Were bright with the setting sun, 
Did I lay down chisel and hammer, 

And feel that my task was done. 
All through the night's long stillness, 

I watched by my dead Past's grave, 
Hearing from Time's deep ocean 

The murmur of many a wave. 

I counted the hours as they vanished, 

And said when the morn should gleam, 
I would take up the cross I had chiselled 

With many a heart-kept dream ; 
And place it there as a headstone, 

That should tell where my Past was at rest, 
Then say one farewell, and departing, 

Fold the Present, as friend, to my breast. 



61 



But I found my cross with its carvings, 

Had its counterpart hid in my heart, 
Where memory, copying my labors, 

Had cut deep with wearying smart. 
So what could I do but to gather 

My past once more to my breast, 
And deep in my heart's hidden chambers, 

Under memory's cross let her rest. 

It were better I took her with me, 

Than to linger beside her grave ; 
I had loved her very fondly, 

And loved, too, the gifts she gave. 
So now I shall keep her with me, — 

My dead and beautiful Past; — 
And whatever my Present and Future, 

She is mine, while life shall last. 



62 



A FLOWER LESSON 

"Pretty pink Hollyhock, how do you do? 

How I wish I could have a chat with you : 
Pray, why do you bow your lovely head, 
So near the edge of the garden bed ? 
Is it because you have tears to shed 

At bidding the Summer adieu? 

"All the Spring and Summer, straight and tall, 

Taller by far than the garden wall, 
Wreathed and crowned with your blossoms gay, 
You have looked like a queen in your bright array, 
But now you seem suddenly old and gray ; 

I don't understand it at all." 

Was it the sound of the passing breeze, 

Tossing the scarlet maple leaves? 
Or did I indeed hear a soft voice say, 
"I have tried ever since the coming of May, 
To make this spot in the garden gay ; 

For my duty, you know, is to please. 

"And, now as the sunny days grow brief, 

And I watch the fading of blossom and leaf, 
I know that my duties are done, 
And that, when the pale November sun, 
Shall tell us the reign of the cold is begun, 
I shall yield to that mighty chief. 



63 



"But 'tis only my very outside that dies, 

For snug and warm in the ground there lies 

The very germ of my life, 

Wrapped away from the wintry storm and strife, 

All ready, when Spring shall again be rife, 
For a Summer of use to arise. ,, 

So a beautiful lesson I learned one day, 

And I thought when I shall be old and gray, 
If I can look back on the days that are gone, 
And see, like my flowers, my duties well done, 
I shall watch in peace life's setting sun, 
And rejoice to pass away. 



64 



THROWING THE SHOE 

We stood 'mid the sunset's glories, 

And our words were brief and few, 
Though ever nearer and nearer 

Drifted onward a sad adieu. 
We, to be left in the quiet 

Of home to watch and pray ; 
He, to stand up for the starry flag, 

In the Union ranks far away. 

We knew the cause was a good one, 

That the hand which led was the Lord's; 
Yet the tears would come unbidden, 

And our thoughts took a depth beyond words ; 
With a glimpse of the dread and the waiting 

In the days that must surely come, 
When fear should walk beside our hope 

Of saying a "Welcome home." 

But there throbbed one heart, whose loving 

Had trust and bravery too, 
And she deemed it a sin that our soldier, 

Should have only a tearful adieu; 
So she said, as she glanced around her 

On faces sad and pale, 
"I'll bring you good luck with an olden spell 

That never was known to fail." 



65 



We smiled, though our hearts were aching, 

And we craved, may the spell prove true, 
When, the "Good-byes" all said, and he left us, 

She threw "for good luck," her shoe. 
And we garnered close as a token, 

To cheer our hearts the while, 
When from under the shading maples, 

Our soldier looked back with a smile. 

And when with a jubilant brightness 

July was with us again, 
Though we lost a tithe of her glory 

In the shadow of War's dread pain, 
We found the God of the battle 

Was better to us than our fears, 
As we welcomed him in gladness 

We had sent away in tears. 

And we said, with thankful rejoicing, 

That the olden spell was true, 
And we never would doubt the magic, 

That lay in a half-worn shoe ; 
And ever, as oft as he left us, 

As oft as we said "Adieu," 
Though we placed our trust in God alone, 

Still, we threw for "good luck," a shoe. 



66 
LofC. 



NOT DEAD 

We call her dead, this friend of our affection, 

Who, — passing on before, 
Beyond the veil that from our mortal vision, 

Conceals the radiant shore, — 
Lives now more truly than when here beside us, 

Her presence gave us joy, 
And taught us gentle lessons of a spirit 

That made Love's sweet employ 
A daily round of patient, kind endeavor, 

To make earth's common ways 
Brighter, where e'er the path of Duty led her, 

Through active, well-spent days. 

We call her dead, but they, God's loving angels, 

Who, kindly waiting near, 
Watched as she laid aside her mortal vestments, 

With smiles of holy cheer, 
Welcoming her to sweeter, nobler duties, — 

Know her as one new risen 
From pain and death, from fear of wrong or sinning, 

That holds us as a prison, — 
Into life, pure and full of peace unending; 

Life rich with such great gain 
That even we, amid our grief, catch glimpses, 

Which sanctifies our pain. 



6 7 



UPHELD 

Hither and thither the ocean of life 
Hath borne my wave-tossed barque, — 

Now amid sunshine goldenly bright, 
And now where the clouds hang dark. 

Sometimes when the wind from the West blew fair, 

I have sat in a quiet calm, 
While over the radiant tide there crept 

The sound of a love-fraught psalm. 

And other voyagers shared my peace, 

And sweet was the tender care 
In which they joined in the matin hymn, 

And made one in the evening prayer. 

Then right in the midst of my gladsome calm, 
A wind from the North swept down, 

And tossed the waves to a turbulant foam, 
And draped the sky with a frown. 

And our fleet of boats was scattered afar, 

And rent into fragments our song ; 
And alone and sad o'er the ocean wide, 

I wearily drifted along. 

Still farther and fainter the shore-line grew, 

Still dimmer the glimpse of green, 
That marked where the beautiful islands lay,— 

Gems of peace 'mid the storm-darkened scene. 



68 



Afar and alone! and my heart grew faint, 
For I feared that the storm must o'erwhelm, 

When over my own fell the clasp of a hand, 
And, "Fear not — there is help at the helm," 

Breathed into the tumult and rage of the storm, 

With such an all-conquering rest, 
That it seemed as a portion of heaven's own peace, 

Nestled warm in my quiet breast. 

Upheld and sustained, till the tempest was past, 
I still clung to the help-giving hand, 

And prayed, whether sunshine or cloud marked my 
way, 
It would guide till my boat reached the land. 

Dear Hand on the helm ! though I blindly forget, 

In an hour of doubt and distress, 
When Faith clears the mist from my tear-blinded 
eyes, 

It is there, still waiting to bless. 



69 



SONG 

Only a song, a little song, 

Warm from the heart upwelling, 
Happy and jubilant, soft and low, 
Like a rippling pool where waters flow > — 
A song for Love's own telling. 

Life is a song, a happy song, 

Glad with a wealth of sweetness, 
When the sun shines bright, and skies are blue,- 
When Love is our guide, and friends are true, 
A song of Hope's completeness. 



70 



TO ONE WHO WAS TRIED 

I read you thus, sweet friend, and noble woman, 
Strong in your weakness, loving in your pain ; 

Holding this true as Christ's own precious teaching, 
Bliss through another's anguish fails of gain, — 

And hopes, whose rainbow arch o'er curves crushed 
longings — 
Another's longings, are but dreamings vain. 

I read you hold this true, and so, when meeting, 
A test to prove you in this proffered choice; 

Through the sweet under-current of your being, 
1 think you heard a gently-cadenced voice 

Bidding you take Christ's starry lamp of guidance, 
Denying self, that others might rejoice. 

I think I know, how, in your fond caressing, 
You held that gentle friend with circling arm, 

Rejoicing you were strong to aid her weakness, 
And guide her from the thorny ways of harm ; 

And how, with hand upon your heart, you stilled its 
throbbings, 
Yielding to her what made life's sweetest charm. 

I know, how, in your fancies of the future, 

A happy home rose as a picture fair, 
Where love stood watchman o'er a flower-wreathed 
entrance, 

And little children claimed your tender care ; 
And all the joys a woman's fond heart yearns for 

Fell like a crown of blessings to your share. 

And all this bliss that golden ring betokened, 

That proffered ring that you might call your own ; 

And that rich roll of gold that symboled to you 
The wealth of love that should be yours alone, — 

If only you could stifle the remembrance 
Another's heart must throb a ceaseless moan. 
71 



I do not wonder that you faltered, longing 

To hold the ring, and leave behind the cross ; — 

To bear such weight upon your trembling shoulders, 
And feel your burden was but tarnished dross ; 

Knowing the cross you hid within your bosom 
Must be the headstone o'er a lifelong loss. 

I understand the fierceness of the conflict, 

And how you watched your friend's fast paling 
cheek, 
And knew the radiant circle of your blessings, 

On which she gazed in sadness dumb and meek, 
Was such a contrast, in its starry gleaming, 

With the dull cross that pressed her shoulders 
weak. 

I do not think you waited long ere yielding 

Your happiness to soothe your loved one's woe ; 

And I can dream you learned a trick of smiling, 
When on her cheek you saw the roses glow ; 

Folding, meanwhile, the cross unto your bosom, 
Bidding nor look, nor word your anguish show. 

And He, who came to comfort in grief's midnight, 
Has writ this promise on your hidden cross ; 

"The merciful are blessed, obtaining mercy;" 
Heaven's compensations o'er crown earth's dull 
dross, 

And God, from out his treasures of compassion, 
Will work your sweetest gladness from life's loss. 



72 



JEWELS 

"Her robings were lace and satin 

Of rare and costly make, 
Whose shimmering folds were as beautiful dreams, 

From which wealth untold might wake. 
Pearls nestled on forehead and bosom, 

In settings of rich device, — 
And they whispered her caskets were rilled and re- 
plete 

With diamonds of fabulous price. 

"And amid these fair surroundings, 

She stood as a lily pale; 
While the few short words she uttered 

Were sad as a funeral wail. 
Her eyes had a look as if burdened 

With the weight of unshed tears, 
And the pallor that rested on cheek and lip 

Told a story of doubts and fears." 

Thus I read, in the letter sent me, 

From over the ocean wave; 
And 'twas added, "This marriage altar 

Seemed more like an open grave. 
For the vows which were that day uttered, 

Laid in death all the hopes of her youth, 
And the ring that enclasped her future 

Lacked the pearl of Love's own truth." 

I was grieved in my soul, and I questioned, 

Why it is that hearts are so weak ? 
Why it is that diamonds can silence 

The words true affection would speak? 



73 



And I said, as I thought of his falsehood, 

And her lack of womanly trust, 
"Let them rest with the past, I would not exchange 

Loving hearts for such glittering dust." 

And I heard as I laid down my letter, 

Little voices just outside my door, — 
Little feet, whose footfalls made music, 

Pattering constantly over the floor; 
And a sound of whispered rejoicing 

Met my ear as I lifted the latch, 
Merging into such glad spoken tidings, 

Wealth in words that no diamonds can match. 

So down where the lamps were lighted, 

And the table was spread for tea, — 
Leaving all my regrets behind me, 

For the falsehood over the sea, — 
I went with my darling companions, 

Joining them in their settled belief 
That the baby's new teeth are the veriest pearls, 

Of worth completest and chief. 

Two pearls in a setting of rubies, — 

The darlingest bud of a mouth, — - 
Worth more than the mines of Golconda, 

Or the gem-laden waves of the South. 
Thus the falsehood that might have brought an- 
guish, 

The friendship now proved but as naught, 
Were but foils, making fairer by contrast, 

Common things by affection inwrought. 



74 



PICTURES OF COMFORT 

A hill, whose woodland crown casts changing shad- 
ows, — 
A brook, 'midst banks of sedgy reed and fern, — 
Green lines of trees, where wreathing vines add 
beauty, 
And bird-wings sweep in many a graceful turn. 

Tall lilacs, tapping at an open window, — 

Roses whose breath of sweetness fills the air, — 

A face within the casement fair and saintly, 
With holy eyes and lustrous wealth of hair. 

The sound of busy feet at household duties, — 
Homes countless littles wherewith life is blest, — 

Fair helping hands, outstretched through love's de- 
votion, 
And kindly words breathing of happy rest. 

To-night I sit where city chimneys cluster, 
A murky twilight in my sombre room, 

Tired with the day, and weakly prone to murmur, 
And shroud my heart, as night is robed, in gloom. 



75 



The way is hard my feet must daily traverse, — 

My duties grow to burdens hard to bear, — 
Hope veils her face, and woes whose names are le- 
gion, 
Show thorn-edged ways, and mountain steeps of 
care. 

Only sometimes, perhaps through God's compassion, 

These pictures, set in brightness, light my way ; 
And gathered back, like lifted folds of curtains, 

The shadows lie, through Memory's blessed sway. 
My pictures, comforters of Love's own painting, 

I'll hail ye, tokens of a glad release, 
In God's own time and way, from doubts and trials, 

Whose roughnesses shall round to perfect peace. 



76 



AN ANSWER 

The night was curtained with darkness, — 
Fringed deeply with mist and rain, 

And I, through the lingering moments, 
Lay clasped in the arms of pain, — 
Close clasped in the arms of pain. 

I was tired, so tired, with counting 

The wearisome hours go by ; 
And prayers for release from anguish, 

Went up with a ceaseless cry, — 

The grief of a ceaseless cry. 

At last, worn and sad with the conflict, 
I prayed just for strength to endure; 

That I might not forget in my sorrow, 
That our Father's compassion is sure, — 
Always unfading and sure. 

And then though my anguish still held me, 
O'er my soul crept a comforting peace ; 

Tender strength sustaining my weakness, 
Like a promise of future release, — 
From my pain a certain release. 

Then Sleep, with her garland of poppies, 
Laid her soft hand over my eyes; 

Sleeping, I woke with my pain all gone, 
To my thankful, glad surprise, — 
My unspeakably glad surprise. 



77 



And thinking it over this morning, 

As I lay in a peaceful calm, 
This lesson crept close to my inmost soul, 

Sweet and true as the words of a psalm, — 

As the words of a holy psalm. 

We live from the Lord, and our lives, to be true, 
Must be one with his inflowing love ; 

And, praying for health, we must first make our souls 
Fit temples for life from above, — 
For angelic life from above. 

Not alone of ourselves, for our Father will help 
With the tenderest wisdom and care ; 

Uprooting the evil, implanting the good, 
Till our lives shall be one with our prayer, — 
Soul and life make one with our prayer. 

"He forgiveth, He healeth," and surely we know 
That his promises ever endure ; 

'Tis only that we must be fit to receive, 
To have their fulfilment made sure, — 
Their rich, glad fulfilment made sure. 



78 



IN MEMORIAM. L. H. 

She fell asleep, so came the written message, 

And we, amid the pain 
That fills our hearts, cannot but think, rejoicing, 

Of her unending gain. 

The blessed sleep He giveth His beloved, 

A calm and peaceful rest, 
To wake beyond the reach of pain or sorrow, 

Supremely glad and blest. 

Death here, life there ; pain here, there joy eternal ; 

No weariness nor care ; 
The spirit's free, unfettered life of uses, 

The sweet outgrowth of prayer. 

She fell asleep, we say, and thought's swift pinions 

Bear us afar ; and lo, 
We seem to see her meeting with the dear ones 

Departed long ago. 

Their words of welcome almost sound around us; 

Their smiles we almost see. 
We almost breathe the fragrant air, and listen 

To heavenly harmony. 

Our hearts, up reaching, joy in her rejoicing, 

And feel our own souls blest 
In happy musings on her glad awakening, — 

Her entrance into rest. 



79 



THE ANSWERED PRAYER 

In fair Brittany we wandered, 

Loitering on our pleasant way, — 
Adding to the cherished pictures 

That kind Memory holds to-day : 
And among the very fairest, 

With its setting quaint and old, 
Deem I this, whose touching pathos, 

Has a charm the heart to hold. 

A wan, crippled little maiden, 

With a sweet and patient face, 
And a voice whose mournful cadence 

Gave her words a touching grace. — 
Oft we saw her in our rambles, 

Sitting by the flower-edged way, 
And we marked the tender kindness, 

Of her little mates at play. 

Thus one morn we saw her sitting, 

And her smile such radiance shed, 
That she seemed a saintly maiden, 

With a halo o'er her head. 
And we questioned, "Was she better?" 

While she softly answered "Nay, 
But I shall be soon, for surely 

Christ will hear my mother pray." 

Days sped on, another morning 

And a bier strewn sweet with flowers, 
Told us she indeed was better 

In a fairer world than ours. 
So unto the mother's praying 

The dear Lord had answered best, 
And instead of earthly comfort, 

He had given Heavenly rest. 

80 



TWO LIVES IN ONE 

Two babies sleeping on one cradle pillow, — 
Two mothers watching near with tender care, 

Planning, as mother love has skill for planning, 
A future for their darlings, bright and fair. 

Two children playing where the sand lay whitest, — 
Two little ones, with earnest, radiant eyes, 

In whose clear depths, life with its changeful won- 
ders 
Seemed ever mirroring forth a new surprise. 

Two school-mates, when the summer days are gold- 
en, — 
When spring smiles flowers, or 'mid December's 
snow, 
Each finding in the other's loving presence, 
A sweeter lesson than their books can show. 

In the fair moonlight, two, a youth and maiden, 
With hands close-clasped, and hearts too full for 
speech, 

Learning the hallowed joy of still communing 
With the dear love that binds them each to each. 

Two lives in one, — when kneeling at the altar, — 
A bridal chaplet 'mid her braids of brown, 

The words are said, rounding to sweet completeness 
The rich, glad hopes that came their lives to 
crown. 



81 



Two lives in one, — his rich in manly courage, 

Truth's heaven-sent courage, — strong to do and 
dare ; 

Hers, girt about with love's transcendent brightness, 
And seeking goodness as a vesture fair. 

Two lives in one, — together over cradles, 

Together when some dear one's call is given ; 

Together ever, — one in joy and sorrow, 

One life on earth, and still more one in Heaven. 

For, passed beyond the ken of human vision, 
Their life of unity still scarce begun, 

Eternity's long cycles shall behold them, 

Ever still blending, — two lives merged in one. 



82 



THE UPWARD PATH 

I am sure that our way is no downward path, 

Where clustering shadows sleep, 
Deeper and lower as age creeps on, 

And our pulses fainter beat. 

But ever onward, upward and on, 

Toward the radiant mountain height, 

Where glitter the pearly gates of home 
In the pure glad Eastern light. 

We only seem to be growing old, 

For we know 'tis a beautiful truth, 
We shall stand when we reach our Father's home 

In the strength of eternal youth. 

So no matter if locks are thin and white, 
And we speak with faltering tongue, 

It is only the mere outside that fades, 
For the soul is forever young. 

The path may be rugged and narrow and steep, 

But above us the light shines clear, 
And angel loved ones wait to speak 

Sweet words of welcoming cheer. 



83 



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